


God had Flowers in His Hair

by DocGorpy



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soul-Searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 19:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18834886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DocGorpy/pseuds/DocGorpy
Summary: “Snaf—” Eugene’s voice cracked and he took a second to clear his throat, “—what brings you?” He finally managed.“Sleep.” Merriell answered honestly. “Haven’t been gettin’ any since.”





	God had Flowers in His Hair

They lay, the pair of them, in a small patch of wildflowers far away from the doctor’s mansion, across the creek on a rowboat and up a hill behind a smattering of trees and a large boulder. As far away from prying eyes as they could muster.

Merriell was lazily picking the petals off a flower, the stems of those he had finished with lay on his exposed stomach. His shirt was open and on his chest formed beads of sweat. It was a hot summer afternoon in the middle of July. A cigarette hung limply from his mouth, the ash was getting long, almost threatening to drop down onto him and burn his skin. He continued his work.

Eugene lay beside him, puffing on his pipe. His mouth was full of smoke as he warned Merriell about the blister he could get if he didn’t flick the ash off his cigarette properly. Merriell, being very much himself, ignored him. Eugene took it upon himself to remove the cigarette from his mouth and stub it against the boulder.

“Light me anotha, will ya, Sledge,” was all Merriell murmured back.

Eugene scoffed, but obeyed all the same, he took a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. He didn’t even know why he still had them on him when he already had his pipe, but looking towards the man on his left, he remembered. He took one in his mouth and lit it. He brought the lit smoke to Merriell’s own mouth and the man hummed in appreciation.

“What'cha doin’ anyway?” Eugene finally asked.

“Countin’ Japs,” was the curt reply. Eugene raised a brow, looking Merriell square in the face, to which he just laughed. “I’m kiddin’, don’t worry ya pretty lil’ head none, boo.”

“If you say so.” Eugene knew better than to probe him any further. Sometimes Merriell did things for no reason at all.

He got off his elbows and sunk back into the wildflowers. The sun burned his eyes so he shut them, his shirt stuck to his chest so he opened it up. The relief it brought made him comfortable enough to fall asleep.

He was woken up, minutes later, by a heavy load on his stomach. He almost threw whatever it was that was on top of him into the boulder behind him in defense. His eyes adjusted, thankfully, before he could even get a strong enough grip on Merriell’s shirt. Eugene squinted up at him, rays of the sun streamed past him through his hair and the thin material of his shirt.

“The fuck’s a'matter with you, Snaf? Tryin’ to give me a heart attack?”

Merriell reached wordlessly with both hands into his pockets and let loose a flurry of flower petals down onto Eugene’s wild-eyed face. Eugene’s gaze softened at this, but his confusion still stitched his brow up into furrows. A petal landed on his lips and Merriell leaned down to blow it away, with his breath came out the smoke from his cigarette. A kiss was planted firmly onto his lips. Eugene felt his blood rush to his ears, his hold on Merriell’s shirt tightened. Merriell lifted himself off of Eugene, breaking the kiss abruptly.

“You sure know how to rile me up, don'tcha?” Eugene laughed up at him.

Merriell stared into his eyes, not smiling back, not bothering to close his mouth either, huffing. “Sorry, just checkin’.”

Eugene’s smile faded, “For what?”

“Checkin’ to see if you’re the real thing, is all.”

Eugene collided up into him and switched their positions, now he was the one on top, his legs to the side and his arms resting on the grass at either side of Merriell’s shoulders. Flower petals swirled around them, some of them still stuck in Eugene’s hair. “‘Course I’m real, the hell you on about?”

“How can I even begin to believe that, what with ya sittin’ there all pretty lookin’ with flowers in your hair.” Merriell finally laughed, gazing up at Eugene like he was some kind of god. Maybe he was.

It had taken Merriell half of spring to find a Eugene Sledge in Mobile, Alabama. He had set out one April morning, once he had gathered enough money for the train fare. Being a war veteran did little for him by way of financial supplementation. He had regretted leaving Eugene on the train home the moment he woke up, barely the next day, and Eugene wasn’t there to comfort him while he suffered from a particularly excruciating bout of the shakes. He sat there, shell shocked, as copious amounts of sweat dripped down from his brow. His bed was wet with sweat and tears, and everytime he tried to close his eyes, he was in hell again. That was it, he looked for a job that same day and didn’t stop working until he had enough money for a trip to Mobile.

Merriell found Eugene at the end of May, showing up at the Sledge Household right before Memorial day. Eugene had answered the door with dirty hands and equally dirty denim overalls. He was wiping his face off with a lace handkerchief, laughing, “I’ll get it, ma!” He had yelled into the foyer.

They both stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, until Merriell broke the silence.

“Sledgehamma.”

“Snaf—” Eugene’s voice cracked and he took a second to clear his throat, “—what brings you?” He finally managed.

“Sleep.” Merriell answered honestly. “Haven’t been gettin’ any since.”

Eugene looked fixedly at him before confessing, “Me neither.”

Merriell hadn’t left since. The good doctor and

Missus Sledge were kind enough to put him up in the  best guest room in the house. 'Anything for a war veteran and a good friend o’ Gene’s.’ But the guest room was barely used. They spent the summer sneaking around at night so they could sleep in one bed, it was the only way they could get a good night’s sleep. This arrangement brought to light several unanswered questions that had arose during their run in the war, and after, for that matter, when they served together in China. There was always something between them, but the brutality of war and the general stigma around such a relationship between two men—two Marines at that, left little for those questions to be answered. Now, they had all the time in the world, and nobody to judge them but themselves.

When Merriell settled down from his laughter, Eugene leaned in for another kiss. He was blushing by the time he pulled away, just one thought ricocheting around in his head.

“Marry me.” It had slipped out of Eugene’s mouth like butter on a hot pan, but he wasn’t ashamed.

Merriell simply looked up at him, a ghost of a smile on his lips, the corners of his shocked open mouth twitching up. There was happiness along with reluctance in the way Merriell stared at him, not really knowing what to say. Eugene was red from the tips of his ears all the way down to his chest, and was searching Merriell’s eyes for an answer.

“O'course,” he finally got out, “but how? Ain’t no pastor or preacher a thousand miles from here gonna marry us. Especially not in the South.”

Eugene couldn’t help but kiss him again, more deeply and more fervently this time, nearly crushing his face between his hands. Merriell hung on for dear life, tangling his tan fingers up in Eugene’s copper hair. They parted, and Eugene smiled down fondly at him, brushing a flower petal stuck to Merriell’s forehead away.

“Oh, we’ll find a way. We always do.”

They got married one cold autumn morning, a week before Eugene’s birthday. He regarded it as the best birthday present he’d ever gotten, since Deacon anyway. Eugene knew a former soldier up in Washington County who had become a preacher man. He had fought in the war with Edward Sledge Jr. and was more than willing to officiate the wedding. It was not legal in any sense of the word, but the papers they signed and the small, beautiful ceremony (with Dr. and Mrs. Sledge, Edward, and Sidney Phillips in attendance), made it real enough for the both of them.

The attendance of Eugene’s folks was not achieved without screaming and crying and maybe a bit of roughing up, however. When Eugene told his parents, he put his mother first, to break the ice. Lord, how she cried. But she admitted nonetheless that she had had an inkling about his preferences as she watched him growing up. Eugene held her in his arms after she finally gave them her tight-lipped blessing. If her son was happy, she would be happy.

His father was another story. Doctor Sledge was not a violent man by any means, he had never lifted a hand on Eugene in all his twenty-two years, except on that day when his son had told him that he was going to marry a man. Eugene had earned himself a heavy slap to the cheek, which surprised him. Not because of the pain or the fact that his father had hit him, but because he had expected more. It might have been the fact that he had spent the previous years being thrown around violently across numerous battlefields, by explosions booming left and right. Regardless, Eugene didn’t retaliate, he merely touched the back of his fist to his stinging cheek and apologized to his father. The good doctor had gripped the edge of his desk, white-knuckled and red-faced, breathing through his nose and restraining himself.

“Father,” Eugene had pleaded with him. “I love him.”

His father bristled at his words, but then relaxed after a few moments of bated breath for Eugene. Doctor Sledge turned to face his son, and finally offered his hand to him, much in the same way Eugene had offered his own when his father finally allowed him to go to war. Eugene saw tears in his father’s eyes, took his extended hand and pulled his father in for a loving embrace, the first since he was a boy. His father had whispered over Eugene’s shoulder that he was proud of the man he had become, and that he deserved to be happy, however and with whomever he pleased. 

Edward and Sidney couldn’t care less, and were just happy for him. But of course, their general acceptance and congratulations did not come without the standard issue, run-of-the-mill teasing that came with being military servicemen. Edward had quipped, “I'm fine with it as long as you lemme be your maid of honor.”

Not one to be outdone, Sid had contributed, “I for one, would like to be one o’ them pretty little flower girls.”

As happy as Eugene was with how generally well-received his news had been, Merriell was not as lucky. Letters he had sent home to Louisiana about the announcement (not without much coaxing from Eugene and his mother), had gone unreplied, not even an angry letter back, which Merriell had first anticipated. In the end, with a tone of surprise from everybody who was there to witness it, Doctor Sledge had stood up from his place on the large armchair in the living room, poured three glasses of the finest scotch he owned, passed them around, and said to Merriell, “I’ll give you away, son." 

The two young men, hardened from war, stood there, reduced to a sobbing mess, embracing each other, embracing Eugene’s father, to which the old man just chuckled jovially at. Merriell was so bold as to even plant the tiniest bud of a kiss on Doctor Sledge’s cheek, which was received by Doctor Sledge with a reddening of his face. The tips of his ears had flared up, and Merriell suddenly knew where Eugene inherited his easily flushed complexion.

The day finally came, Merriell was all gussied up in his dress blues, Eugene had donned a simple but handsome suit, making good on his promise to himself not to wear a uniform ever again. Merriell had put flowers in Eugene’s hair, just like the day he proposed. Everything was good and beautiful and wonderful and finally right in the world, and Merriell would never lose sleep again.


End file.
